


compulsive

by hayvocado



Series: whatever we want. [4]
Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Developing Relationship, Drabble, Multi, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 15:28:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16856578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayvocado/pseuds/hayvocado
Summary: Control is no longer in Eddie's vocabulary, not after everything with the Life Foundation and Venom.He starts to find control in tiny things in his life.  It's irrational and unhealthy and he's ashamed of it but hecan'tstop.  It's driving him crazy and Venom realizes that it's a problem.





	compulsive

**Author's Note:**

> here we have the second installment of me projecting my mental illness on Eddie as a coping mechanism uwu
> 
> (I wasn't planning on posting this originally just because it's kinda specific ?? writing it was more for the sake of venting than for posting it _but_ a sweet anon on tumblr told me that they like the way that I write Eddie's relationship with his mental mess and it warmed my heart so here ya go !!)

It’s like scratching at a mosquito bite.

 

Eddie knows that it’ll make it worse and that it’ll swell up and get even more itchy, but he just can’t _not_ do it.  He has to scratch, has to mollify the impulse.  If he doesn’t then it’ll just keep tingling, keep burning at the back of his brain, nagging at him that something’s not right, not right, _not_ _right._

 

His hair.

 

It’s always the same spot on his scalp, at the edge his hairline, just behind his right ear; it’s the perfect spot, of course.  It’s right there, when he’s sitting at a desk writing an article and leans his head against his palm, and his fingertips are already right there.  When he’s laying down on his couch with his hands pillowing the back of his head. He doesn’t have to stretch his arms to reach it, he doesn’t need to strain, it’s _right there._  Perfect.

 

Well, no, not perfect.  It’s terrible actually.

 

He twists and pulls at the hair so hard sometimes that his fingers cramp up.  Other times, he gives himself headaches or even starts bleeding. It’s debilitating, but it feels impossible for him to not do it, he has to, _has to._  No matter how bad it is, every time he does it there’s just a flood of relief, his brain whispering _“better, better, perfect.”_

 

His thumbs.

 

The pads of both of his thumbs are torn up and ugly and gross—he can’t stop tearing at them.  He worries at them with his teeth when he’s thinking, when he can’t figure out how to word something, when he’s concentrating.  He digs at them with the nails of his other fingers when he’s in crowds, when he’s in a tense meeting, when he’s in an interview and he’s worried about messing up; the noisier his head gets the worse it is.

 

He just picks and bites and picks and bites and _picks_ —

 

Eddie knows what it is, he knows he has obsessive compulsive disorder.  It’s his anxiety cycling and manifesting obsessions that he can only relieve by doing compulsions, he knows this.  He knows that he shouldn’t give in to them, that he should stop himself but he doesn’t care. He wants to care, he _used_ to care, but now?

 

He can’t care.

 

All that matters anymore is feeling secure, not losing himself, staying in control.  Ever since the Life Foundation, since Venom, nothing feels like it’s under his control.  Eddie isn’t even the sole inhabitant of his own fucking _body_ anymore, how could he ever be in control?

 

He can’t.

 

***

 

**Stop that.**

 

Venom’s voice jolts Eddie out of his trance.

 

“Wh-what?”

 

**Your hair.  You are pulling at it again.**

 

“Oh.”

 

Eddie hastily removes his hand from behind his ear and slides his elbow off of the table.  He can feel his face getting warm and he shrugs jerkily. Embarrassed, he tucks his hand under his thigh, as if hiding it from Venom.

 

**Why do you do that?**

 

“Huh?”

 

**You pull at your hair when you are worried or upset.  Why?**

 

Eddie blinks dumbly.

 

“I j-just… bad habit, I guess.  Been doin’ it for years.”

 

As he says it, he knows it isn’t entirely true.  It’s more than just a habit. Habits are things that someone does naturally, mindlessly, that they can just do and move on.  For Eddie, his urges—his compulsions—just demand to be done. If he doesn’t do them, if he stops, it just makes everything worse, it can ruin a whole day for him.

 

Venom must understand where Eddie’s train of thought is going, because they manifest, hovering just before his face.  Their opalescent eyes are narrowed, and their head is tilted to the side, scrutinizing their human.

 

**“It gives us headaches when you do it over long periods of time.”**

 

They’re trying to reason with him, and it gives Eddie pause.  Sure, it smarts a bit if he picks for too long, but it doesn’t hurt, not really…  Sighing through his nose, he frowns. Just as he’s opening his mouth to say something, Venom hisses chidingly and drifts closer.

 

**“Now you are doing it with your hand.”**

 

“Wh-” eyes wide, Eddie looks down at his left hand, resting on the table, and sees that he’s started digging at the sides of his thumb with his nails without even noticing.  “Hell, I didn’t even…” He can’t help the huff of frustration that rattles out of him. “God damn it.”

 

**“Why do you do that, Eddie?”**

 

Eddie hesitates, mouth opening and closing uselessly as he fishes for an answer that doesn’t make him sound stupid or crazy.  He knows why he does it, but it’s one of those things that barely makes sense to other humans, let alone an alien. He can’t really rationalize it, can he?

 

“It, uh… it soothes my brain?”  It comes out as a question, which seems to further confuse the symbiote.  Eddie sighs and glances up at Venom before averting his eyes, ashamed. “My mind g-gets, uh, it gets noisy, sometimes, and it’s one of the ways to make it be… be quiet.”

 

Yeah, no, it definitely sounds fucking stupid _and_ crazy.

 

**“Our thoughts do seem to be more… chaotic than other hosts.”**

 

“Wait, wh-what?”  Eddie’s eyes are the size of saucers as he stares at Venom’s head in front of him.  “You can tell my brain’s different?”

 

**“Of course.  Anne’s mind had organized thoughts, determined, intentional.  Yours are… disorganized, and muddled. There is a lot of background noise.”**

 

Well isn’t that just _fucking_ great.

 

Of course, Eddie knows this.  He’s in his own head, has been there since birth, so he knows that his brain is fucked up.  It just seems _doubly_ fucked up that Venom can tell so easily.  The thought makes Eddie feel a rush of guilt, colored with a dash of self loathing, and it lugs through his veins, heavy and sad.

 

**“Stop that.”**

 

He doesn’t even hear them.

 

 **“Eddie,** **_stop._ ** **”**

 

Goosebumps burst across Eddie’s skin as Venom’s inky goo surfaces along his wrist, encasing his hand in their all-too-familiar claw.  Tendrils wind around Eddie’s forearm, up to his elbow, and they hold him still, anchoring him to the table.

 

Not long after bonding, the two made a deal to always be in agreement before Venom’s allowed to take the reins ( _"It’s a lot, dude, it’s only fair that I get a warning.”_ **_Fine, we will warn you first._ ** _“See? Togetherness is fun!”_ ).  This little arrangement may seem simple and perhaps even standard, but it gave Eddie back some semblance of control, at least in his mind, which really did do wonders for his stability.

 

So it’s pretty understandable that Eddie’s next reaction is to panic.

 

A gross heaviness floods his chest and he feels his skin flush, air scrambling through his lungs to try and keep him breathing.  He stumbles on shaky legs, half standing as he’s still fucking _stuck_ to the table, and squeezes his eyes shut so tight he can hear his blood rushing through his ears.

 

His brain starts doing it again.  It’s trying to start and complete a thought, but it gets tripped up, stuck on itself, like it has the hiccups. _Out of control, out of control, feels small, out of control._  Anxiety grips at the back of Eddie’s throat so tightly that he can barely choke out a word.

 

“Off,” it comes out strangled and muted.  He can vaguely feel Venom talking to him, a resonant rumble thrumming beneath his skin.  He doesn’t care, can’t care.

 

_“_ _Off!”_

 

This time it bursts from his chest as a shout and it cuts off whatever Venom had been saying, shocking the symbiote silent.  Without missing a beat, they retract their alien goo, sinking back into Eddie’s skin. He can feel them moving in him, shifting to settle just beneath his rib cage.

 

It takes a few moments of deep breaths and counting before Eddie can open his eyes again without feeling like he’s going to pass out.  Once he does, he looks down at the hand that Venom had encased, only to see that his thumb is bleeding.

 

_Oh._

 

**Eddie, we cannot keep doing that.  Hurting us.**

 

Eddie knows this.  He knows that it’s bad and it’s hurting him but—

 

“If I don’t I’ll just-… I’ll go crazy, man.”

 

He can hear how whiny he sounds, and he hates it, he _hates_ it.  He knows that he’s being irrational and testy, he _knows_ that, dammit he knows!  He just needs to, needs to—

 

**This is already driving you crazy.**

 

Their voice is gentler than normal, the usually thunderous noise reduced to nearly a hum, but it does nothing to take away from the harshness that is the truth to their words.  If one could recoil from a voice in their mind, then that’s exactly what Eddie does. He shakes his head vehemently, like he’s trying to knock Venom’s words loose from his skull.

 

“You don’t get it, V, y’don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”  He’s agitated now, grumbling like a petulant child, he can tell, he _knows,_ but he can’t stop himself.  He also knows that they’re right and that they’re always right about these kinds of things but Eddie doesn’t want to deal with it, he doesn’t want to be babied, he’s _not_ crazy.

 

**Eddie… how can we help?**

 

That just makes him want to shut down even more.  He hates this, hates feeling like he needs to be taken care of, feeling small, feeling incompetent.  He goddamn fucking _hates_ this, he doesn’t want to talk about it, can’t talk about it.

 

“I don’t know, okay?  I don’t know. Just fuckin’... j-just drop it,” he puffs, flopping back into his seat with a frown.  Refocusing on his near-blank word document, he does his best to remember what he was writing about, where he was at.  He furrows his brow and rereads the most recent paragraph, starts picking again, digging—

 

**Eddie?**

 

“ _Fucksake!_  I said drop it, Venom!  It’s fine, I’m _fine._ ”

 

He’s really, really not.

 

He’s so not-fine, in fact, that he doesn’t even notice that Venom’s withdraws for the entire rest of the day, moving to rest in the base of his spine, where he won’t notice them.

 

***

 

That night, while Eddie’s asleep, Venom spends hours tapping away on his laptop, reading as many articles as they can and referencing Eddie’s own memories for context.  Eddie may be stubborn, but Venom’s got him beat. If he can’t figure out how to take care of himself, then they’ll do it for him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I might end up making a second part to this because I left it on kinda a meh note and it doesn't really feature V doing that much, so let me know if anyone would wanna see that
> 
> [EDIT: so many ppl both on here and on tumblr have requested a part two so look out for that sometime soon !!!]
> 
> talk to me on my tumblr if you want [@femmebiote](http://femmebiote.tumblr.com/)


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